Five Times Blair Complained About Dan's Hair (And The One Time She Cut It)
"Remember how you used to wear your hair in high school? You know. Not when you had it shaved so that you were practically bald, which, by the way, looked like 2006 Natalie Portman gone wrong… No, not then. When it was a bit shorter on the sides and longer in the front and looked really smooth and kind of dorky but cute at the same time?"
He blinks. "Yes, Blair. I know what you're talking about. What's your point?"
"I wonder what it would be like to run my fingers through it."Her fingers instinctively curl around the nape of his neck.
"I like my curls."He brings a hand up to his head and looks as though she not only offended him but his hair itself.
"So do I, but I sometimes wonder… " she trails off, pressing a soft kiss to his lips in a small apology. Still, she can't help but mutter, "plus my fingers sometimes get caught in them when I'm kissing you, and it's a tad distracting."
"Just because we're dating now doesn't give you the right to change my clothes or my hair or my… anything. We've gone through this."
She nods her head. "Right."
The next time she sees him, he's wearing a silky, dark green button-down that she bought him one day when she was out shopping for herself. It's a definite improvement from plaid, but…
She kisses him as a greeting and her hands loop around the back of his neck and his curls tickle her arms.
She frowns. "It looks longer than it did Sunday. Are you putting some sort of growth hormone in it?"
"Drop it."
"It's beginning to look a bit like one of those viburnum bushes that grows in Central Park."
"Blair…"
"Pretty soon it's going to start talking and moving of its own accord."
"Blair!"
"Cedric's hair is more manageable than yours!"
"Waldorf!"
"Humphrey, I love you, and I'm just trying to look out for your best interests!" It's the first time she says it out loud, and she presses a hand to her mouth as if she can hardly believe what she just told him. She hates that it doesn't sound sincere.
"I love you, Dan," she repeats. Softer. Not in the spur of the moment.
He crashes his lips into hers and all thoughts about hair are forgotten.
She brings him one of those books from the hair salon with all of the pictures of different styles and lengths and colours and he really didn't think hair could do that many things. His mind is blown.
"You know who has nice hair?" she asks wistfully, staring into space. "George Clooney. It's gray, but he pulls it off."
"George Clooney is old. He doesn't even have enough hair to let it do this." He gestures towards his long, dark, (out-of-control) locks.
She broods. "Well isn't his girlfriend lucky…"
The summer heat is sweltering and creates shimmering waves above the pavement. She's fanning herself with one of those cheap hand-fans from a local beach store, too hot to care. He has sticky marks all over his face from her lip gloss from earlier, but the afternoon has brought the sun to its peak, and now the temperature is just too darn high to even think about anything physical.
She glances over at his shirtless body, and that's a nice view… but then she looks up.
"You're sweating."
"So are you."
"Not as much as you."
"You have a fan."
"You… have too much hair."
"I'm not cutting it."
And she's supposed to be the stubborn one in this relationship.
"You would feel so much better!" She slams her lemonade down on the table next to her with much more force than she anticipated. Consequently, she's showered with little droplets and they fall on her bare stomach, her arm, her cheek.
He leans over and bends to her level, sucking the small drop of liquid off of her cheek. Then he moves to her arm. Then-.
Oh, she wants to finish that conversation about his hair, but her mind fogs, and her want for something else is so much stronger.
He leaves her for a whole week to go on a book tour, The Monarch of Manhattan having been very successful. She stays in New York for her classes in Columbia. She absolutely hates not seeing him every day.
She's waiting for him at The Loft when he comes home, dropping his suitcase and immediately turning towards her for a kiss.
That he doesn't get.
"You grew stubble…" She touches his jaw.
"Do you like it?"
"It's itchy." Not a yes or no. A fact.
"Um, so…"
She leaves his side. Goes to the bathroom. Comes back with a fresh razor.
"Shave or I'll break up with you."
"You… What?"
"Shave or I'll break up with you!" She dangles the razor dangerously in front of his face.
"Whoa, hold on now!"
"I have dealt with the hair for six months now, Daniel Randolph Humphrey! Six months! But I am not going to put up with this, this hobo-trocious, struggling writer, lumberjack-wanna-be look!"
He grabs the razor from her hand and has the stubble off his face in less than five minutes.
She cuts his hair in the middle of the night.
It takes is her waking up to a mouthful of curls at 2 AM, but she finally does it.
It looks horrible.
His yell of outrage from the bathroom is what wakes her up.
She takes him to the salon that morning and three people work on his hair before it manages to look somewhat decent. It's shorter than the perfect length she would like. But she knows it will grow. Probably too fast for her liking.
He never admits that she was right, not even when it grows out a little bit and she runs her fingers through it…
But he likes the way it looks. She really likes the way it looks.
She never touches his hair with a pair of scissors ever again.
As long as he agrees to cut it when she asks him to.
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